A Different Kind Of Hero
by JA Baker
Summary: Not all heroes wear bright costumes, and that's what makes them all the more special


_It's all owned by Marvel and the BBC  
__Just an idea that I've been kicking around for a while_

**A Different Kind Of Hero**

The first time Steve Rogers saw him was at a hospital on Scilly. He'd been there on a PR jaunt, shaking hands with G.I.'s wounded during the invasion, showing that Captain America was standing beside them at all times. The man in the next bed over had gone into some kind of seizure, and an orderly had rushed over, actually pushing Rogers out of the way in his haste to get to the man. One of the handlers Senator Brandt had assigned him ushered him out of the room before he could get a good look, but he never forgot a face: he was in his late thirties of early forties, with dark blond hair and brown eyes that wouldn't have been out of place on a hardened combat veteran.

The second time was in Italy, just after he'd gotten back from rescuing Bucky and the others from Schmidt's secret factory. While everyone else had been trying to shake his hand, that same orderly was already sorting the walking wounded from those that needed to see a doctor immediately. Rogers was surprised to hear him speak; he had an unmistakable New York accent, but there was underlying hint that sounded a lot like Carter. He asked around afterwards, and one of the Doctors said the man's name was Rory Williams, and that he had walked into a recruitment office the day _before_ Pearl Harbor. He wrote a letter to his wife once a week, assuring her that he was safe and keeping out of trouble. He never once mentioned to her all the times he had risked his life to pull a wounded man off the battlefield, all the time he'd stayed in a hospital, tending the injured, during an air-raid. Nothing seemed the shock or slow him down in the slightest; it was almost as if he had no fear of death.

The third time they met was a couple of months later, on their way back from a raid on a HYDRA bases. Morita and Dernier had picked up minor shrapnel wounds, so they'd stopped off at an aid-station set up in a museum. Stupidly, they'd let their guard down, not realising that a squad of HYDRA troopers had been tracking them. It was gone midnight when they struck, killing the two G.I.'s on guard duty and bursting into the room that held over two dozen defenceless, wounded men.

Defenceless, that was, except for Corporal Rory Williams.

He'd been changing a bandage when the masked attackers barged in, but he reacted almost as quickly as Rogers himself, grabbing an IV stand and stabbing the nearest one through the eye of his gas-mask. Without skipping a beat, he grabbed a pair of Gladius' swords off the wall. They were antiques, a relic of Roman times, but Williams dispatched two more of the HYDRA troopers while Rogers dealt with the rest. Even in the midst of the fight, Rogers couldn't help but notice how the unassuming orderly fought with practised ease, almost as if it was something he had spent years practising. Every last move was carefully measured, taking down his opponents with the almost surgical precision. Then, one the attackers were all dealt with, he actually worked to save the life of the only one still breathing, pulling him back from the brink of death. The almost calm fury of the fight was gone, replaced with a much more frantic urgency as he struggled to sew up wounds he himself had inflicted just moments before.

The man lived, one of the few HYDRA prisoners ever taken.

Rogers found Williams afterwards, sitting on the front steps as a fresh force of guards secured the perimeter, a mug of tea in his hands.

"You did good in there." He offered his hand.

"Thanks." Williams seemed almost surprised that anyone had noticed.

"You seem to know your way around a sword." Rogers crouched down, "You're also good at patching people back up. My unit could use a man like you."

"Thanks, but I don't think my wife would like it." the medic shook his head, "She wasn't that happy about me joining up in the first place; said I was only going to get myself killed aga..." He trailed off, "Well, you know, she didn't want me to get hurt. She worries about me like that."

"Something tells me she doesn't have anything to worry about." Rogers looked across to where the bodies of the dead HYDRA had been laid out under blankets in the road, "We really could use someone with your, skills. It's important work..."

"With all due respect, Captain, what I'm doing now is important work." Williams looked genuinely angry, "Look, if I go with you, I'll be looking after, what, half a dozen men? I stay here, I can help hundred."

"I guess I can't argue with that." Rogers stood, "Your accent... it's a little odd. Where abouts are you from?"

"Me?" Williams stood as an ambulance came down the road, bring in fresh patients, "Let's just say I've been around. But that was a lifetime ago."

He jogged off towards the ambulance, already putting the night behind him. Something told Rogers that it was something else he wasn't going to be putting in a letter to his wife back in New York.

**The End**


End file.
